


Nothing to Lose But You

by cupcaketoffoli



Category: Hockey RPF, Major League Soccer RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe, Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, Angst, Captain America!Chris Wondolowski, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Winter Soldier!Martin Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-02 07:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18806761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupcaketoffoli/pseuds/cupcaketoffoli
Summary: The memories, good and the bad, drowned him like a tidal wave, and he couldn’t breathe.





	Nothing to Lose But You

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an alternate universe thought up by me and some friends. Hence the peculiar ship. Hope y'all enjoy it anyway. The title is based off the song 'Nothing to Lose But You' by Three Days Grace which inspired this mini fic.

“You’re my mission!”

“Then finish it– ‘cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

Captain America was the man on the bridge, and the Winter Soldier’s mission, one that he had neglected to follow through with. It had fucked with his mind. One half of his brain had apprised the Soldier that the man was mendacious, that he didn’t know the first thing about him. But truly, Captain America _did_ seem familiar, as if he had been in association with him in a previous life.

The man told him that they were lovers at one point, that he loved him more than life itself. His voice was hushed, strained from the pain he was in after the Winter Soldier truculently pummeled him near to death. Captain America’s face was bloated and bruised, eyes stinging with tears. His reluctance to fight back only evoked stupefaction and vexation within the Soldier.

Martin Jones was the name that Captain America had uttered. _Martin Jones._ Was that the Winter Soldier’s true identity? God, everything was so fuzzy, and his head felt like he’d been thrown around across a room like a ragdoll. He was beginning to question his entire reality and his purpose, why he was brought into this world. Before he could say a word, the surface beneath them gave out. With quick reflexes, he grasped onto a metal beam, which allowed himself to stay on the helicarrier. The Soldier looked on as Captain America plummeted to the river below with bleary, tear-soaked, and itching eyes.

He dove into that water after him without a second thought.

He dragged the man up by the straps of his uniform. The blue fabric was stained in the crimson liquid after the Soldier had shot him an unholy amount of times, appearing like a macabre version of the American flag, which was slightly ironic. For the first time since he could remember, the Soldier’s touch was benign as he set the man on the shore, kneeling down to make sure he was still breathing. His fingers tentatively brushed across Captain America’s neck as if he was a porcelain doll that would shatter if the Soldier was being too harsh, feeling a pulse. The sight of his titanium arm prompted him to recall how inhuman he truly was. A monster.

Flinching slightly, the Soldier stumbled backward. He needed to leave before SHIELD or the feds got to him, breaths hiccuping in his chest. He was overwrought with fear– or grief, perhaps somewhere in between, and groaned as he got back up to his feet, dragging a limp leg behind him as he receded from view into the brush.

He displayed inclination to ascertain his true identity, and to find a grip on reality.

However, he had relented for a while, returning to the Ideal Federal Savings Bank– also known as a HYDRA base where they had kept him captive. He had unfinished business to take care of.

_They made me do terrible things. They’re responsible._

“Mission report,” A HYDRA scientist enjoined, his voice quivering as if he was afraid something had gone awry, or was afraid of the Winter Soldier himself. The Soldier almost scoffed at how miserably inadequate these people truly were.

“It’s done. Captain America is dead,” The Winter Soldier growled in a steely tone.

He didn’t waste time as he made one of the scientists fall to the ground like a bag of cement with a single punch, clenching his titanium fist with seething anger in his cerulean eyes, seizing the other by the neck before he had a chance to react. The Winter Soldier craned his neck with this dull expression on his face to get a better look as the HYDRA scientist writhed and gasped for air, his face gradually turning purple from a lack of oxygen.

The Winter Soldier could kill them right now with ease, rid the world of two more evils, but the reminder that he’s murdered so many before prevented him from going through with another heinous act, releasing the second scientist from his grip and retreating from the facility.

Eventually, with civilian clothes cloaking his identity from the public eye, he had seeked out the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian Institution, and distinguished a memorial for a man with a face all too familiar. His own. He idled at the memorial, titled ‘A Fallen Comrade,’ and the information stated that Captain America– Chris Wondolowski– and Martin Jones were very close up until Jones’ supposed death during combat when he had fallen from the side of a train– mirroring the Soldier’s earlier encounter with Wondolowski, except for the fact that he was able to save him. Sergeant Jones was described as a kind-hearted and quiet man, but would never back down from anything that threatened himself or the people he loved.

Accompanying the memorial was old footage of the two together, laughing and practically radiating raw happiness despite the situation they were in. The footage was ancient and the film was flickering, in black and white because it was just that– a distant memory.

The Winter Soldier’s– Martin’s eyes welled up with tears. He was overwhelmed, and choked back suppressed sobs. He began to recall all those memories of his life before it descended into a downward spiral of madness.

He can vaguely reminisce about those stolen glances and kisses in the dark he shared with Chris away from prying eyes. Their relationship was a hazard in itself, like a bomb ready to explode, and if anybody in the ranks unearthed this skeleton in the closet and ratted them out, they would have been met with a dishonorable discharge from the army.

The memories, good and the bad, drowned him like a tidal wave, and he couldn’t breathe.

 

* * *

 

Martin grasped onto the rail of the train for dear life above the icy Danube River as the train continued to hasten through the mountains with no signs of halting. Screaming Chris’ name, his grip was so fixed on the rail that his knuckles turned white. He refused to die. Not there, not then, and his will was unrelenting. As Chris held off the soldiers, he inched his way closer to Martin’s side, begging him to hold on.

Chris reached a trembling hand out for Martin, and he could feel their fingertips touching before the rail began to creak and eventually gave out. From then on, it was like everything was in slow motion, Martin’s stomach dropping as tears clouded his vision. Chris’ expression was one of horror and anguish as Martin plunged into the narrow valley beneath them hundreds of feet below, his blood-curdling screams reverberating throughout the mountains. The Sergeant’s presumed death was not at the hands of war itself, but a freak accident.

Upon impact within the ravine, Martin’s left arm had been completely torn from his body, and he was awaiting death, lifeless and his eyelids were fluttering. He wanted to rest. The environment was so frigid that he couldn’t even feel the pain from where his arm was severed, dying the snow beneath him with blood. Even for a soldier who had practically seen everything that could induce terror, the sight of his limb completely missing made him increasingly nauseous.

His limp body was discovered by a Soviet soldier who handed him over to HYDRA, and his memory was fuzzy regarding the procedures he endured besides a few snippets here and there that ended up appearing like a choppy movie in his mind. The only reason he had lived was due to his enhanced physiology due to the experiments HYDRA had conducted on the poor man. The remnants of his left arm was substituted in exchange for one made of titanium, and he was to be used as HYDRA’s greatest weapon.

“Sergeant Jones. . . the procedure has already started. You are to be the new face of HYDRA.”

 

* * *

 

They couldn’t be together, even now. Martin had tried to murder Chris countless times these past few weeks, for God’s sake, and he wasn’t even in control of his own mind. The Winter Soldier had the keys to the car and Martin was locked in the trunk. He wasn’t going to endanger Chris again. Not when he’s a monster that could lash out at any moment due to convoluted manipulation and brainwashing tactics.

His only choice was to go into hiding. To save both himself and the man he had once called his lover.


End file.
